


my love to keep me warm

by la_victorienne



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-05
Updated: 2009-01-05
Packaged: 2018-10-16 00:54:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10560646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_victorienne/pseuds/la_victorienne
Summary: ianto hates winter.  but jack does not.





	

WINTER WEATHER  
Benny Goodman & Peggy Lee

I love the winter weather  
So the two of us can get together  
There's nothing sweeter, finer  
When it's nice and cold I can hold  
My baby closer, to me  
And collect the kisses that are due me  
I love the winter weather  
Because I've got my love to keep me warm  
I love the winter weather  
So the two of us can get together  
There's nothing sweeter, finer  
When it's nice and cold I can hold  
My baby closer, to me  
And collect the kisses that are due me  
I love the winter weather  
Because I've got my love to keep me warm

Ianto hates winter.

One would think that, having lived in Wales most of his life, Ianto would be used to the damp and the cold, snow and sleet and hail the size of golf balls; but, no. No – every year as the temperatures drop below zero and frost starts to dust the ground, Ianto spends a quality amount of time grousing about the weather – partly out of habit and partly out of true discontent. Lisa used to tease him about it, saying that even in London winters got cold and snowy, and Ianto would just reply that she’d never seen winter in Wales, and he’d have to show her sometime what it was really all about.

Secretly, he’s glad he never got the chance; living with Lee over a winter might have dampened his passionate hatred and replaced it with tenderness, due to her incessant ability to change his mind about everything, and it’s a part of himself he knew he could fall back on once she was gone. That winter was the most miserable of all, four weeks in a flat he could barely afford, now that the money for Dr. Tanazaki’s tickets was spent, and no room for extra heating in the budget, with him on suspension. He remembers it with a sort of Christmas-Carol quality, the windows frosted and every penny counted to ensure he wouldn’t run out before he went back to work – _if_ he went back to work; he was never sure that it would happen, or that Jack would feel benevolent enough to allow him even to collect his things.

Of course, that winter was also one of his better ones, especially when, late in the third week of his unpaid vacation, Jack visited him, shocked that Ianto had given up so much in order to ensure Lisa’s success, had _risked_ so much on her living. He took Ianto out to a hot dinner that wasn’t pot noodle and taught him a few military tricks for keeping warm in the cold (ones that did not, as Ianto had expected, include sharing sheets). He never offered to take Ianto back early, nor did he give Ianto money to tide him over – but Ianto is sure that if Jack had, Ianto never would have returned to Torchwood anyway, asked or no. Even then, Jack was reading Ianto’s thoughts, deciphering his torn and terrible brainwaves without any trouble at all, and that at least has not changed, although Ianto himself has.

Jack proves it by turning his key in Ianto’s lock after he’s finished with late paperwork at the Hub, solving Ianto’s debate of whether or not to call, or just drive back there, any way to keep from being alone. Ianto makes dinner while Jack watches (and occasionally taste-tests both cook and cuisine), talking about things that aren’t important, and therefore so necessary, and Jack finally wanders into Ianto’s living room and puts on the jazz music he likes so much, drawing Ianto out of the kitchen and into a dance.

“Mind you don’t let me scald the pasta,” Ianto murmurs, already drawn into Jack’s inevitable force of being.

“These songs are short,” Jack replies, and Ianto ‘hmph’s, but closes his eyes anyway, hand warm in Jack’s. He could almost forget that it's winter, he thinks, with the warmth and contentedness that flood his body, and conveniently ignores the fact that this was Jack’s intention.

They dance until the song ends, and Ianto keeps hold of one of Jack’s hands as he goes back to stir the pasta, like they’re a normal couple holed in for an evening. Jack kisses him in front of the stovetop and squeezes Ianto’s fingers before retreating for plates and flatware, wine glasses and the bottle they opened yesterday. He lays the table with beautiful care, and Ianto passes him full plates to complete it. They sit down in comfort, Jack for once not a presence too large for Ianto’s kitchen and table, and Ianto smiles.

The night is cold, but Jack’s hands are warm, and maybe, now that he thinks about it, winter isn’t such a burden after all.


End file.
